


Fragments

by QueenoftheProcrastination



Category: American Gods (TV), Multi-Fandom, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1930s Mobster AU, Drabble Collection, F/M, General Themes:, Hurt/Comfort, More coming soon - Freeform, Power Dynamics, Protective Kylo Ren, Rey's got some anger issues in a few of these, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Some Canon universe, Vaginal Fingering, some AU, tags added as needed, tol and smol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheProcrastination/pseuds/QueenoftheProcrastination
Summary: A place for me to put the fragments and drabbles that I never quite finished. Multi-fandom. Tags will be adjusted as I find previous abandoned works.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Mad Sweeney (American Gods)/Reader, Mad Sweeney (American Gods)/You, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. He Had It Coming (Reylo)

**Author's Note:**

> Reylo. Rated M for Murder.

"Shit."

Rey didn't mean to kill him, she thought as she stared at the too pale, bloody figure at her feet. He'd been coked up and angry. Screaming about...something. She didn't even remember. 

It wasn't her fault he charged her. Or that she happened to be slicing up the pie. 

She looked at the knife in her hand. Rich red blood dripped off the tip, landing on her new Stuart Weitzman pumps. Ugh, blood was impossible to get out of suede. 

"Is everything alright in there?" One of Hux's business partners called from the other room. 

_Shit._

Rey set the knife down in the sink and grabbed some paper towels. She had to wipe up all this blood before someone came in. She tried to kneel, but her too-tight Chanel skirt caught her knees and she down she went. 

Right into--

"Oh gross!" She hissed, scrambling up off of Hux's corpse. 

She looked down in horror as blood soaked through her off-white silk top. She was so preoccupied staring at the horror before her, that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her. 

"Is there anything I can help...Rey what the fuck?"

Rey's head jerked up at the sound of his voice. And up, and up. Kylo Ren, the intimidating Chief Legal Officer of First Order Holdings Inc., was standing in the doorway with a clear view of Rey crouched down next to Hux behind the island. 

Kylo took a few steps into the room, stopping before his shiny black shoes reached the puddle of blood slowly oozing its way across the floor. He stared at her, his whisky-rich eyes seeming to peel back the layers of her skin to see into her very soul. She felt like the world froze, or maybe it was simply that she froze. After an eternity of a moment, Kylo nodded to himself, turned on his heel and went back into the dinning room. 

She heard the murmur of his deep, baritone voice, and the replies of her dinner guests. A moment later, Kylo reappeared and shut the door behind him. 

"The guests have been informed that Hux hit his head and needs to lie down. They're leaving. Stay in here until I come back."

Rey blinked, trying to process his words. By the time she managed to formulate a reply, though, he had already left the room. Why on earth was Kylo helping her? He was Hux's lawyer, for god's sake. But she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was currently crouched on her kitchen floor next to the body of her husband. 

_Late husband_ , Rey corrected. 

With a huff, Rey sat down, giving up on keeping her outfit from getting dirty. She cast her gaze around, trying desperately not to look at the body next to her.Tilting her head to the side, she examined her shoes--those were a shame. Out of the carefully curated wardrobe Hux bought for her, the shoes were the only thing she really enjoyed. 

_Can't wear $500 shoes in prison, Rey_. 

She could hear her guests gathering their things and leaving. Such an anticlimactic end to Thanksgiving--for them, at least. Not so much for dearest Hux. 

All those hours of training and etiquette lessons that her husband had paid for were screaming at her to go out there and see her guests off. But she got a sick little twist of pleasure at ignoring those instincts. 

After a while the apartment fell silent--no more clickity-clack of heels on the marble floors or low rumble of businessmen talking about, well, business. 

The kitchen door opened suddenly and Rey's heart lurched, but instead of an accusing face, Kylo entered, his expression as impassive as always. She didn't know what to do--what to make of his behavior--so she stayed where she was, eyeing him warily. She wasn't used to people helping her; everyone had a motive. Take Hux for example--sure he pulled Rey up from poverty when he married her, but the cost was being molded into his perfect trophy wife. 

Kylo wanted something. She just had to figure out what it was. 

Much to Rey's surprise, Kylo approached and offered her his hand. She stared at it. His hands were big, and maybe a little calloused, which she had not expected. Hux's hands had been baby-soft and excessively moisturized. After a long moment, she put her hand in his. 

"Why are you helping me?" She asked as he tugged her up. 

Much to her surprise, he didn't stop once she was on her feet, but scooped her into his arms. 

"Your suit!" She exclaimed as her blood soaked shirt pressed against the fine wool of his jacket. "Where are you taking me?"

"You need to wash all this off. And not track blood through the house." His tone was clipped, but Rey sensed it was because of focus, not anger. 

Kylo kicked the master bedroom door open and headed towards the bathroom. Rey wondered if she should ask how he knew the layout of her house, but at the moment she had more pressing things to see to. Without preamble, Kylo set her in the glass enclosed shower before stripping off his jacked at tossing it at her feet. 

"Wash off--your hair, your skin, everything--and leave the clothes in the shower. I have someone discrete coming to clean," he ordered, rolling up his shirt sleeves. 

Kylo turned to leave, but Rey reached out and grabbed his wrist. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes locked on where she touched his bare skin. Cheeks heating, she dropped his arm. 

"Why are you helping me?" Rey repeated. 

Kylo sighed, and ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. "I'm the CLO. It's my job to protect the company. Hux is dead. You're his widow, so therefore, you inherit his shares. You're now the majority shareholder of First Order." As he spoke, he stepped closer to her, until they were only mere inches apart. "It's my job to protect _you_ , Rey." 

Rey tilted her head back so she could see his face. Kylo's gaze was locked on her's, his expression earnest. A flush of...of _something_ coursed just under her skin at that look. 

"I didn't mean to," she whispered before slapping her hands over her mouth at what she'd just admitted. 

Kylo shook his head. "I know you didn't. If you had, it wouldn't have been so sloppy."

* * *

Rey stood under the scalding spray, scouring every inch of her body--washing her hair so many times she lost count, picking every speck of dirt from under her nails, scrubbing her skin until it felt raw and red. Her clothes she shoved in the corner, along with Kylo's jacket. It really was a shame about the shoes. 

Once or twice she thought she could hear people moving around in the apartment beyond, but she chalked it up to nerves. Certainly there were people here--Kylo's "discrete" cleaners--but she was on the second floor, on the opposite side of the flat from the kitchen. If she could hear them, then they weren't as discrete as he claimed. 

She knew she should feel something--sadness, maybe. Definitely guilt. But she just felt numb. 

Rey startled as a knock sounded on the door. A second later Kylo entered. Heat flushed across her skin; she was acutely aware she was naked, with only the steamed glass walls hiding her from him. 

"Don't you ever knock?" She snapped. 

"I did, actually," he pointed out, toeing out of his shoes. 

"Is it...I mean, is he..." Rey didn't know how to finish her question. 

Nor could she really find the concentration to once Kylo began unbuttoning his shirt. "What are you doing?!"

"He's gone. You'll never have to see him again, and no one will know what happened," Kylo confirmed with a surprisingly casual air as his hands drifted down to the fly of his trousers. 

"What. Are. You. Doing?" Rey repeated, her teeth aching at how hard she clenched her jaw. 

"I need to remove any trace DNA."

She froze at his words. He was going to...to shower? Here? She was here! 

"There are three other bathrooms in this apartment," she reminded him tersely, quickly turning her back to him. 

She heard the glass door swing open and then closed. "True. But this is the only one that's been contaminated.”


	2. Kneecaps and Headlights (Reylo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey takes a baseball bat to Unkar Plutt's truck; Ben intervenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was inspired by the Dead Don't Die where Adam plays a cop. It feels kinda bad taste to continue this give the current political climate. Rated T.

Sheriff deputy Ben Solo was just about to take a bite of his double-bacon cheese burger when the radio on his shoulder crackled to life. 

"All units, we have a disturbance out on country road KR at the Cantina. Sounds like vehicular vandalism in progress."

_ Shit _ , Ben thought as he looked at his burger wistfully. He was only a few miles out and he doubted anyone else at the overworked, under-staffed department would be closer. 

"Ten-eight. I'll swing over." 

The drive took less than five minutes. When he pulled up at the Cantina--a dive bar in the middle of nowhere, that somehow still managed to attract a crowd almost every weekend--he saw immediately what the call must be about. A group of about a dozen people stood around as a tiny woman beat the shit out of someone's pickup with a baseball bat. It looked like she already keyed the hell out of the sides and slashed the tires.

Ben sighed and got out of his car. He could hear her now, screaming as she swung hard, going for the headlights. 

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD!"

He approached slowly, hoping to hell he wouldn't get a Louisville slugger to the head. "That's enough, miss."

The woman spun around at this words, the bat held high, her eyes wild. Damn but she was a pretty thing. Pretty pink lips and a cute little nose. And the fury radiating off of her was more a turn on that Ben cared to admit. 

"Drop the bat, honey." He said, trying to keep his voice soothing. 

She was breathing heavily, her chest rising hard and her cheeks flushed as she stared at him. After a long moment she gave the tiniest nod before letting the bat drop. Ben ran a hand through his hair, breathing a sigh of relief. 

He took a step towards her when the back door of the bar slammed open and a man ran out. 

"YOU CRAZY BITCH! WHAT THE FUCK!?"

The second the woman heard the new voice, she spun around and started kicking the truck, fists flailing. 

"Jesus!" Ben swore, wrapping his arms around the woman's waist and tugging her backwards. All he needed was for her to slice herself up on the broken glass and need sitches. 

The man--pudgy bordering on fat and balding--barreled towards them. Ben tugged the girl upwards, lifting her completely off the ground and turned them around so the fat guy would hit his back. The little spitfire in his arms was still thrashing, limbs flying everywhere.

"Someone restrain him!" He snapped. 

The group of bystanders sprung into action and his words. Two beefy guys grabbed Fat Guy and Ben managed to wrangle the hellion into the front seat of the squad car, blocking her from taking off either towards the truck of its owner by standing in front of her.

"Someone wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?" 

"That crazy bitch wrecked my truck!"

"Watch your language," Ben snapped. He looked down at the woman in the passenger seat of his car. "Wanna tell me why you went after his truck."

"Because going after his knee caps is a felony," the girl snapped. 

_ Christ _ . 


	3. The Left Hand (Reylo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1930s(ish) Mobster AU. Rated M.

"Get back here, you little bitch!" Unkar Plutt thundered, struggling to push himself onto his feet. 

Rey stumbled towards the door, and began fumbling with the locks. Her fingers refused to work, refused to grasp the chain and slide it open. 

"Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _ "

This was it; Plutt was finally going to kill her after nearly a decade of threatening it. 

With a curse she managed to slide the bolt and yank the door open, just as the sting of the belt came down across her shoulders. She screamed, her body propelling forward in pain and adrenaline. She hooked her hands on the banister and spun down into the stairwell, half tumbling, half running down the five flights. Her footsteps thundered in her head as Plutt’s echoed off the walls. They were making enough racket to raise the dead, but she doubted any of their neighbors would so much as peak out their doors. Not at this time of night and not in this tenement. 

She could hear Unkar lumbering after her, his sour heavy breath bellowing out of his open mouth and rolling over her. Gagging, she jumped the last five steps and hurled herself at the front door. Luckily it was unlocked and Rey bolted out of the building in nothing but a flannel nightgown. Rain slicked the front steps of the building and Rey tripped, tumbling onto the sidewalk as another lash hit the back of her legs. 

She scrambled up, gravel tearing at the bottoms of her feet. Plutt was right behind her--if she could just get to the bar across the street maybe someone could--

A horn cut through the humid air and Rey had only a moment to register brilliant headlights careening towards her. 

~~~

Three days later, Rey stood on the threshold of the most elegant room she could have ever imagined, dressed in nothing but a dove grey silk slip edge in black lace. The dress--if one could call it that--stopped around her upper thighs. Rey took a deep breath and attempted to steady her heartbeat. 

_ You can do this. Anything is better than Plutt. _

The room itself was nearly bisected by a carved screen of dark wood that extended from floor to ceiling, save for a six-foot gap in the middle through which one might walk. The room seemed to shimmer beyond the screen and it took Rey a moment to realize that it was made out of glass. Beautiful cut glass panels danced between the room and the city beyond, rippling, beveling, texturing the light. Large fern-like plants were potted along the edge of the wall while clinging, curling vines climbed up the end of the windowed wall. 

Rey hadn’t realized she’d walked the length of the room until her outstretched fingers brushed the cool surface. Goosebumps rose on her arms; it was noticeably colder by the window, as if the heat from the fire was forbidden from crossing the wooden screen. 

“You’ll smudge the glass.”

Rey spun around, eyes wide and searching for the origin of the reproach, of that voice. She realized that a man was watching her from the corner of the room. She could just make out his silhouette lounging on a hidden chair.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as he rose, bathing his features in moonlight. 

He was  _ massive _ . Not like Plutt, but tall and broad. The man before her had hair black as night haloing his face, like some fallen angel. He was pale but starkly beautiful. Dark brows over dark eyes, a patrician nose and full red lips. His expression was one of boredom, but she could feel something darker lurking in the coil of his muscles. Tense. He was so tense, so coiled, she could see his muscles flex under white marble of his forearms where he’d rolled his sleeves up. 

“Phasma sent you.” 

It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway. 

It had been Madame Phasma, caporegime of Rey’s neighborhood for the First Order crime family, who had been driving the car that interrupted Rey’s escape efforts. It had been Madame Phasma who, with a look of boredom, tossed a handful of notes at Plutt and ordered Rey to get into the car. And of course, it was Madam Phasma who had brought her to this room. 

_ Think of it as earning your place in the family, sweetling.  _

“Interesting,” he said, his voice-- so deep and so, so warm--echoed in her very blood.

Rey frowned. “What’s interesting?”

He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he walked behind the screen and, from the sound of it, poured himself a generous tumbler of whiskey. He reappeared a moment later, a tumbler in both of his big hands. As he walked towards her, Rey had to suppress the urge to back up. He moved like the panther in the city’s zoo--slow, but deliberate, his gaze ever fixed on his goal. 

On  _ her. _

He stopped less than a meter from her and held out one of the glasses. “Do you know who I am?”

She didn’t, but she didn’t want him to know that. “Of course. You’re a First Order caporegime.”

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze carefully analyzing her from the top of her loose dark hair to the tips of her bare feet, and Rey was suddenly aware of her hardened nipples puckered beneath her silk shift. She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Much to her surprise though, he soon returned his gaze to her face.

“Drink,” he commanded, offering the second tumbler once again. 

_ Fuck it _ , Rey though as she reached for the glass. She took a gulp, struggling to not to cough as it burned all the way down her esophagus and flared hot in her stomach. He knocked back the rest of his drink. She thought she saw the corner of his mouth lift in the ghost of a smile. 

He retreated back to the corner, this time lit by a glittering electric lamp and with a full decanter of booze. He sat in the dark upholstered chair that was tucked there next to a small table, his long legs spread wide. 

“Come here.”

Rey took another gulp of whiskey and did as she was told, stopping just between his knees. He pulled her down on his lap, one arm protectively curved around her back, his tumbler of whiskey resting against her hip. No doubt leaving a mark on the silk. He placed his other hand on her inner thigh, just below the hem of her skirt. He began gently rubbing and kneading the flesh, causing heat shoot along Rey’s skin, from his fingers, up, up her thigh, higher--

She felt too hot, too close, here on his lap--only too aware of his thigh beneath her bare arse. The wool of his trousers rubbed against her skin and Rey began to squirm, rocking her hips. 

“What’s your name?” Rey blurted out. 

His hand stilled, though he didn’t let go of her thigh. A droplet of water beaded down her hip from his tumbler. Rey peaked up at him. His expression hadn’t changed, exactly, but the air around them was charged and something like anticipation lurked in his dark, dark eyes. 

“What did Phasma tell you?”

_ Shit _ . He knew she didn’t know who he was. “She didn’t tell me anything.”

The hand on her thigh tightened for a moment. “Don’t lie to me, little girl.”

_ Little girl _ , the words curled in her belly, hot and forbidden. She shivered. Rey felt little next to him--she was tall enough for a woman, but he loomed over her, broad shoulders and thick muscled thighs. She was a wisp next to him. 

“If Phasma told you I was a capo, she lied,” as he spoke, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He leaned closer, his voice a rumbled whisper, “ _Sono_ _mano sinistra, bella._ ”

Time froze as his words sunk in. Most in the neighborhood knew a smattering of italian; everyone knew the words  _ mano sinistra _ . The left hand. The First’s Order’s enforcer and assassin. He was currently in a war with the  _ mano destra _ , the right hand, to whom all every single caporegime answered. 

“Kylo Ren.” His name rolled off her tongue with ease. 

She’d only seen him once before, she realized, when he’d come to the butcher’s across the street had tried shorting the Order on their monthly percentage. She’d been looking out the kitchen window when the gloss dark car had pulled up and a tall, dark haired man got out. 

Plutt had been absolutely gleeful that night--seeing his business rival humiliate made him forget about yelling at Rey for not cooking dinner fast enough…

Rey made up her mind. “Phasma asked me to spy for her.”

“I know.”

Of course he did. Why the fuck else would she show up in his room practically naked. 

“Are you going to send me away?”

“No.”

Her head shot up in surprise. “No?”

“No. Tell Phas what she wants to hear. But tell me what she says.”

“She’ll want to know if we’re…”

“Fucking?”

Rey blushed, but nodded. 

“I have every intention of fucking the living lights out you.”

“You want me to be your whore?”

“Mistress has a better ring to it.”

She thought about it for a moment. He was handsome and more importantly, feared. No one would hurt her if she was with him. 

He watched her gaze for the first indication that she had made up her mind to agree and pounced. Rey found herself sprawled on the bed as he gazed down at her.


	4. Force of Nature (Mad Sweeney x You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You (f) meet one fucking delightful Leprechaun at a Halloween party. Rated E.

“So what the hell are you supposed to be?” You ask, eyeing the  _ very  _ large man who had just sprawled his massive frame next to you on the sofa. 

It probably wasn’t the smoothest way to start a conversation, you suppose, but damn it, this is a Halloween party and he looks like he’d wandered off stage from a Bertolt Brecht play. His auburn hair is so tousled it nearly stood on end and he wore only a not-so-white undershirt and some very shapeless trousers held up by leather suspenders. 

He rolls his head to look at you, leisurely taking a long drag off his cigarette before raking his gaze over you from head to foot. 

“I’m a leprechaun. Who are you?” His voice is deep and a bit rough, and he does indeed have an Irish brogue. It rolls over you like the ocean waves 

“I’m________,” you answer automatically, eyeing him; he has to be six and a half feet tall at least. “You’re a bit tall for a leprechaun.”

“Jesus fuckin Christ,” he exclaims, sitting up and taking a gulp of beer. “Why the fuck does everyone fucking say that?”

You sip your drink, unfazed by him. You’d been drinking steadily all night, among other substances. 

“Because you’re big and sexy and definitely not like a leprechaun," you answer with a shrug.

He flashed you a cheeky grin, his irritation dissipated. He placed one big hand on your thigh, hot against your bare skin. His thumb rubbed circles on the soft skin between your legs, making you dizzy. “Big and sexy, am I, darlin’? You haven’t even seen my cock yet.”

You laugh at how forward he is, and you feel yourself squirming where you sit, rubbing your thighs together at the thought of seeing this giant man’s dick. 

“Don’t tease me,” you chide, leaning towards him. He smelled of the sea, of leather, of smoke and sex. 

His hand traveled further up your thigh, leaving fire in his wake. He pushes up your skirt, and brushes his thumb in lazy circles against the damp fabric between your legs. 

“Ain’t teasing,” he bit out, his big body curling towards your more delicate frame. “I’m gonna fuck you stupid tonight.”

“Bold of you to assume…” but you trail off.

He slid one thick finger into you. You gasp, eyes wide at the realization that this strange, gorgeous man is fingering you in the middle of a party. You can feel a flush bloom across your chest, bringing your attention to your nipples. They’re  _ aching _ . You flutter and twitch around the intrusion of his finger. 

He brushed a kiss against your forehead. “No one’s paying attention, love. They’re all too wrapped up in each other and themselves to see what’s right in front of ‘em. Fuckin’ idiots.”

He’s close to you now, and you look at his face, really taking it in. He’s handsome, yeah, but there’s a wildness--a  _ danger _ \--to him too. You can’t help but wonder if you have a man or a force of nature between your legs. 

“I don’t even know your name,” you say. You don’t feel bad about it exactly, but it does seem important. 

In response, he ducks his head and captures your mouth in a hot, slow kiss. His tongue presses past the barrier of your lips, rough and insistent and you arch towards him and manage to hook one arm around his neck. His hair is  _ so soft _ as you tunnel your fingers through it, nails lightly scratching his scalp. 

He withdraws his finger and gilds it over your sensitive clit before he pulls away breaking your kiss. For a moment you were struck with the mad idea of straddling his hips and riding him right here in the living room. The thought of it makes you flushed and dizzy, makes you  _ desperate _ . 

But you don’t want to share him. 

He stands abruptly and you feel a flicker of disappointment. But then he extends a hand forward.

"Sweeney's the name, darlin’. Mad Sweeney."

Laughing, you take his hand. “ _ Mad  _ Sweeney? What kind of name is that?”

He hauls you up, though the top of your head only reaches about halfway up his chest. You crane your neck upwards until your gaze meets his. 

He grins; it’s a wolfish, hungry thing. “It’s my name. And you’re gonna be screamin’ it.” 

He ducks his head again, ready to steal another kiss, but you laugh and dash away. He barks out a laugh. You run up the narrow stairs of the party house, the big, wild man following on your heels. 

He catches you around the waist, pressing you up against the wall with his big, hard body. You throw your arms around his neck, grasping his hair. He grasped your hip with one hand, the other anchored in your hair, tilting your head upward. His mouth seals over yours, and you arch your back, desperate to have every inch of you covered by him. 

His kiss is  _ sinful _ . Heat spreads from his lips, down your throat, liquid gold flowing in your veins. The big hand in your hair slides to your neck, his thumb pressing just under your jaw. 

“Aren’t you a pure fucking delight,” Sweeney croons. “I knew if I put my hand up your little skirt, and rub your sweet cunny, my fingers would come up wet.”

His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you open for him. Your hands explore his broad shoulders and hard chest. 

" _Sweeney._ " Its a please, a prayer from your lips. "Sweeney please."


End file.
